I would like to let you
know Im most grateful for having came across your awesome
website. Ive been visiting it for what must be close to
seven years now.

Not long ago I found an
essay by Mark Twain which surprisingly Ive never heard any
reference given to with in the world of nonduality (other then
naturalistic nondual philosophy.) I wondered if you had not
encountered it, at any rate it might make a worthy subject to put
on ND Highlights.

OM: To me, Man is a
machine, made up of many mechanisms, the moral and mental ones
acting automatically in accordance with the impulses of an
interior Master who is built out of born-temperament and an
accumulation of multitudinous outside influences and trainings; a
machine whose ONE function is to secure the spiritual contentment
of the Master, be his desires good or be they evil; a machine
whose Will is absolute and must be obeyed, and always IS obeyed.

YM: Man has been taught
that he is the supreme marvel of the Creation; he believes it; in
all
the ages he has never doubted it, whether he was a naked savage,
or clothed in purple and
fine linen, and civilized. This has made his heart buoyant, his
life cheery. His pride in
himself, his sincere admiration of himself, his joy in what he
supposed were his own and
unassisted achievements, and his exultation over the praise and
applause which they
evoked--these have exalted him, enthused him, ambitioned him to
higher and higher
flights; in a word, made his life worth the living. But by your
scheme, all this is
abolished; he is degraded to a machine, he is a nobody, his noble
prides wither to mere
vanities; let him strive as he may, he can never be any better
than his humblest and
stupidest neighbor; he would never be cheerful again, his life
would not be worth the
living.

Excerpt from What
Is Man?

O.M. You have been taking
a holiday?

Y.M. Yes; a mountain
tramp covering a week. Are you ready to talk?

O.M. Quite ready. What
shall we begin with?

Y.M. Well, lying abed
resting up, two days and nights, I have thought over all these
talks, and passed them carefully in review. With this result:
that... that... are you
intending to publish your notions about Man some day?

O.M. Now and then, in
these past twenty years, the Master inside of me has
half-intended
to order me to set them to paper and publish them. Do I have to
tell you why the order
has remained unissued, or can you explain so simply a thing
without my help?

Y.M. By your doctrine, it
is simplicity itself: outside influences moved your interior
Master to give the order; stronger outside influences deterred
him. Without the outside
influences, neither of these impulses could ever have been born,
since a person's brain
is incapable or originating an idea within itself.

O.M. Correct. Go on.

Y.M. The matter of
publishing or withholding is still in your Master's hands. If
some day
an outside influence shall determine him to publish, he will give
the order, and it will
be obeyed.

O.M. That is correct.
Well?

Y.M. Upon reflection I
have arrived at the conviction that the publication of your
doctrines would be harmful. Do you pardon me?

O.M. Pardon YOU? You have
done nothing. You are an instrument--a speaking-trumpet.
Speaking-trumpets are not responsible for what is said through
them. Outside influences--
in the form of lifelong teachings, trainings, notions,
prejudices, and other second-hand
importations--have persuaded the Master within you that the
publication of these
doctrines would be harmful. Very well, this is quite natural, and
was to be expected; in
fact, was inevitable. Go on; for the sake of ease and
convenience, stick to habit: speak
in the first person, and tell me what your Master thinks about
it.

Y.M. Well, to begin: it
is a desolating doctrine; it is not inspiring, enthusing,
uplifting. It takes the glory out of man, it takes the pride out
of him, it takes the
heroism out of him, it denies him all personal credit, all
applause; it not only degrades
him to a machine, but allows him no control over the machine;
makes a mere coffee-mill of
him, and neither permits him to supply the coffee nor turn the
crank, his sole and
piteously humble function being to grind coarse or fine,
according to his make, outside
impulses doing the rest.

O.M. It is correctly
stated. Tell me--what do men admire most in each other?

O.M. I would not go any
further. These are ELEMENTALS. Virtue, fortitude, holiness,
truthfulness, loyalty, high ideals-- these, and all the related
qualities that are named
in the dictionary, are MADE OF THE ELEMENTALS, by blendings,
combinations, and shadings
of the elementals, just as one makes green by blending blue and
yellow, and makes several
shades and tints of red by modifying the elemental red. There are
several elemental
colors; they are all in the rainbow; out of them we manufacture
and name fifty shades of
them. You have named the elementals of the human rainbow, and
also one BLEND--heroism,
which is made out of courage and magnanimity. Very well, then;
which of these elements
does the possessor of it manufacture for himself? Is it
intellect?

Y.M. No.

O.M. Why?

Y.M. He is born with it.

O.M. Is it courage?

Y.M. No. He is born with
it.

O.M. Is it majesty of
build, beauty of countenance?

Y.M. No. They are
birthrights.

O.M. Take those
others--the elemental moral qualities-- charity, benevolence,
magnanimity, kindliness; fruitful seeds, out of which spring,
through cultivation by
outside influences, all the manifold blends and combinations of
virtues named in the
dictionaries: does man manufacture any of those seeds, or are
they all born in him?

Y.M. Born in him.

O.M. Who manufactures
them, then?

Y.M. God.

O.M. Where does the
credit of it belong?

Y.M. To God.

O.M. And the glory of
which you spoke, and the applause?

Y.M. To God.

O.M. Then it is YOU who
degrade man. You make him claim glory, praise, flattery, for
every valuable thing he possesses-- BORROWED finery, the whole of
it; no rag of it earned
by himself, not a detail of it produced by his own labor. YOU
make man a humbug; have I
done worse by him?

Y.M. You have made a
machine of him.

O.M. Who devised that
cunning and beautiful mechanism, a man's hand?

Y.M. God.

O.M. Who devised the law
by which it automatically hammers out of a piano an elaborate
piece of music, without error, while the man is thinking about
something else, or talking
to a friend?

Y.M. God.

O.M. Who devised the
blood? Who devised the wonderful machinery which automatically
drives its renewing and refreshing streams through the body, day
and night, without
assistance or advice from the man? Who devised the man's mind,
whose machinery works
automatically, interests itself in what it pleases, regardless of
its will or desire,
labors all night when it likes, deaf to his appeals for mercy?
God devised all these
things. _I_ have not made man a machine, God made him a machine.
I am merely calling
attention to the fact, nothing more. Is it wrong to call
attention to the fact? Is it a
crime?

Y.M. I think it is wrong
to EXPOSE a fact when harm can come of it.

O.M. Go on.

Y.M. Look at the matter
as it stands now. Man has been taught that he is the supreme
marvel of the Creation; he believes it; in all the ages he has
never doubted it, whether
he was a naked savage, or clothed in purple and fine linen, and
civilized. This has made
his heart buoyant, his life cheery. His pride in himself, his
sincere admiration of
himself, his joy in what he supposed were his own and unassisted
achievements, and his
exultation over the praise and applause which they evoked--these
have exalted him,
enthused him, ambitioned him to higher and higher flights; in a
word, made his life worth
the living. But by your scheme, all this is abolished; he is
degraded to a machine, he is
a nobody, his noble prides wither to mere vanities; let him
strive as he may, he can
never be any better than his humblest and stupidest neighbor; he
would never be cheerful
again, his life would not be worth the living.

O.M. You really think
that?

Y.M. I certainly do.

O.M. Have you ever seen
me uncheerful, unhappy.

Y.M. No.

O.M. Well, _I_ believe
these things. Why have they not made me unhappy?

Y.M. Oh,
well--temperament, of course! You never let THAT escape from your
scheme.

O.M. That is correct. If
a man is born with an unhappy temperament, nothing can make him
happy; if he is born with a happy temperament, nothing can make
him unhappy.

Y.M. What--not even a
degrading and heart-chilling system of beliefs?

O.M. Beliefs? Mere
beliefs? Mere convictions? They are powerless. They strive in
vain
against inborn temperament.

Y.M. I can't believe
that, and I don't.

O.M. Now you are speaking
hastily. It shows that you have not studiously examined the
facts. Of all your intimates, which one is the happiest? Isn't it
Burgess?

Y.M. Easily.

O.M. And which one is the
unhappiest? Henry Adams?

Y.M. Without a question!

O.M. I know them well.
They are extremes, abnormals; their temperaments are as opposite
as the poles. Their life-histories are about alike--but look at
the results! Their ages
are about the same--about around fifty. Burgess had always been
buoyant, hopeful, happy; Adams has always been cheerless, hopeless, despondent. As young
fellows both tried
country journalism--and failed. Burgess didn't seem to mind it; Adams
couldn't smile, he
could only mourn and groan over what had happened and torture
himself with vain regrets
for not having done so and so instead of so and so--THEN he would
have succeeded. They
tried the law-- and failed. Burgess remained happy--because he
couldn't help it. Adams
was wretched--because he couldn't help it. From that day to this,
those two men have gone
on trying things and failing: Burgess has come out happy and
cheerful every time; Adams
the reverse. And we do absolutely know that these men's inborn
temperaments have remained
unchanged through all the vicissitudes of their material affairs.
Let us see how it is
with their immaterials. Both have been zealous Democrats; both
have been zealous
Republicans; both have been zealous Mugwumps. Burgess has always
found happiness and Adams unhappiness in these several political beliefs and in their
migrations out of them.
Both of these men have been Presbyterians, Universalists,
Methodists, Catholics--then
Presbyterians again, then Methodists again. Burgess has always
found rest in these
excursions, and Adams unrest. They are trying Christian Science,
now, with the customary
result, the inevitable result. No political or religious belief
can make Burgess unhappy
or the other man happy. I assure you it is purely a matter of
temperament. Beliefs are
ACQUIREMENTS, temperaments are BORN; beliefs are subject to
change, nothing whatever can
change temperament.

Y.M. You have instanced
extreme temperaments.

O.M. Yes, the half-dozen
others are modifications of the extremes. But the law is the
same. Where the temperament is two-thirds happy, or two-thirds
unhappy, no political or
religious beliefs can change the proportions. The vast majority
of temperaments are
pretty equally balanced; the intensities are absent, and this
enables a nation to learn
to accommodate itself to its political and religious
circumstances and like them, be
satisfied with them, at last prefer them. Nations do not THINK,
they only FEEL. They get
their feelings at second hand through their temperaments, not
their brains. A nation can
be brought-- by force of circumstances, not argument--to
reconcile itself to ANY KIND OF
GOVERNMENT OR RELIGION THAT CAN BE DEVISED; in time it will fit
itself to the required
conditions; later, it will prefer them and will fiercely fight
for them. As instances,
you have all history: the Greeks, the Romans, the Persians, the
Egyptians, the Russians,
the Germans, the French, the English, the Spaniards, the
Americans, the South Americans,
the Japanese, the Chinese, the Hindus, the Turks--a thousand wild
and tame religions,
every kind of government that can be thought of, from tiger to
house-cat, each nation
KNOWING it has the only true religion and the only sane system of
government, each
despising all the others, each an ass and not suspecting it, each
proud of its fancied
supremacy, each perfectly sure it is the pet of God, each without
undoubting confidence
summoning Him to take command in time of war, each surprised when
He goes over to the
enemy, but by habit able to excuse it and resume compliments--in
a word, the whole human
race content, always content, persistently content,
indestructibly content, happy,
thankful, proud, NO MATTER WHAT ITS RELIGION IS, NOR WHETHER ITS
MASTER BE TIGER OR HOUSE-CAT. Am I stating facts? You know I am.
Is the human race cheerful? You know it is. Considering what it
can stand, and be happy, you do me too much honor when you think
that _I_ can place before it a system of plain cold facts that
can take the cheerfulness out of it. Nothing can do that.
Everything has been tried. Without success. I beg you not to be
troubled.